Rallied upon his reticence, he had snubbed Kate and turned disdainfully from Jack’s polite proffers to guide him through the review.  He had studied Davis all through the manoeuvres with a furtive, fascinated attention, which Mrs. Atterbury remarked with complacency, attributing it to awe.  At the dinner-table, seated between Kate and Merry, he had never taken his eye from the chief of the Confederacy.  Twice the President, courteously addressing him, he had blushed guiltily and dropped his gaze.  Before the dinner was half over he pleaded a severe headache, and, bidding his hostess good-night, hurried from the room.  The wide hall was deserted; the moon threw broad swaths of light on the cool matting, and he halted for an instant, breathing rapidly.  Something lying on the rug at the door moved languidly.  Wesley, looking carefully about, moved swiftly to the spot and stopped.  Pizarro raised his head, whining amicably, and, as Wesley bent over to pat him, wagged his tail with a spasmodic thud against the floor, in sign of goodfellowship.

“Come, Pizarro, come with me,” Wesley said, coaxingly.  But the dog, redoubling the tattoo with his tail, remained obstinately at his post.  Wesley stole to the end of the hall and listened, then, hearing the busy clamor of the servants moving from the kitchen to the dining-room, he retraced his steps to the stairs, bounded lightly up and in three minutes reappeared, and, keeping his eyes on the half-closed doors, slipped softly to Pizarro.  The dog sniffed excitedly, and as Wesley took a thick parcel from his coat-pocket the beast leaped up and attempted to seize it.

“Follow me, Pizarro, and you shall have it.”  He held up the packet, a red, glistening slice of raw beef.  The dog whined ecstatically and Wesley, holding a morsel of it just out of his reach, retreated up the stairs.  Pizarro bounded after him as if construing the by-play into a challenge, and frisking in all sorts of fantastic shapes to win the savory prize.  The door of Wesley’s room was open, and as the dog came abreast of it he flung a piece into the apartment.  Pizarro, lowering his sniffing nose, looked at the tempting bit sidewise, and then wagging his tail in modest deprecation of his boldness, made a start inward.  It was swallowed in an instant, and then, as Wesley entered, the door was closed.  Pizarro, by the humility of his manner, the lowered head and sidelong glance, asked pardon for intruding upon the privacy of a guest, but argued with his ears and by short yelps, in extenuation, that such a feast as a bit of meat—­after an active day, when the servants had forgotten to feed him—­no dog with a healthy appetite could resist, no matter how perfect his breeding.  He was ready for the larger ration Wesley held in his hand.

Wesley held the temptation in his hand until he had lured the dog into a large closet communicating with the bedroom by a locked door.  Once in, the door was shut, and the young man sank on a seat in a thrill of grateful relief.